Passing Scene

Some observations from a great day of worship at Woodland Hills yesterday. It was so good, I went twice!

1. I saw God yesterday. He was wearing a purple vest and an usher name tag. I was moved as I watched this guy, who has a familiar face but whose name I don't know, walk in with two women with pretty severe physical disabilities. The first one, he wheeled in in her wheelchair and found her a quality seat, even though the service was well underway. Then he went back out and walked in another woman who struggled along with a walker. It wasn't that he "showed" her a seat, he put his hand on her back affectionately and steadied her walker all the way to the seat he had picked out for her. He was love personified. I don't know this guy, but I see him all the time. I will never be able to look at him the same.

2. Some of the songs were tough for my voice to get around yesterday. Familiar songs with slightly varied arrangements in vocal ranges that were unfriendly to my voice. In the middle of it, I had a thought. Seems like we write songs and go looking for voices that can sing them. What if we listened to the voice and then wrote songs that fit the voice? Would everyone have a "good voice"? How much of life would be better if we first "listened to the voice?" Instead, it seems we create standards and go looking for people who can live up to them. Most people can't. I can't.


3. My heart's desire has been to go back to Colorado. For twenty years, Carol and I have tried to find a way home and nothing has ever worked out. Now it is happening, we're moving in June. I am experiencing a deep happiness at the prospect. Unfortunately, it means leaving behind a church where God really lives with scarred human hands and feet. I don't know if anything like it exists anywhere else. Greg is a good teacher and I can podrish his sermons. Unfortunately, the other parts of Woodland Hills can't be experienced online. It is a unique place where broken people put other broken people first and live out the love of Christ in really tangible ways. It is so big that nobody knows your name...except everyone does.

Making progress on the thesis. I'm pretty excited about where it is going. Hopefully in the next week a big chunk will fly out of my computer...a big chunk of my thesis, not a big chunk of my computer!

Pretty bummed about my Broncos. Finally going to be able to watch them every week next season and they will be unwatchable. As usual, my timing is impeccable.

Balaam and Me

While this probably won't be the bestseller on the level of Marley and Me, it pretty much sums up what has been running through my head for the last several hours. The Old Testament tells the story of a prophet named Balaam who had real trouble making wise decisions. Just when one of his bad choices was about to cost him his life, God began speaking to him through the lips of his donkey, or as the King James Version says, "his ass." Preachers for generations since have used the illustration of God speaking through an ass to make points with their congregations and shock people into seeing how God can speak in unusual ways. What no one has ever seemed to consider is the possibility of Satan doing the same thing.

This morning was the latest of many examples of my speaking like an ass. My daughter was running later than I wanted her to be in getting ready to go to worship and teaching at our church. To "encourage" her (read, "manipulate"), I puked out this lovely line: "See you at lunchtime, cause their is no way you're getting to Woodland Hills on time." I adore my daughter and want the very best for her, so where in the world does a snarky, stupid statement like that come from? I usually blame it solely on myself, but the class on spiritual warfare is at least teaching me that I have a partner in this kind of behavior. I allow myself to be Balaam's ass for less than noble purposes. Yes, Satan is speaking through an ass, and it seems that the ass is me.

Fast forward now to the service at Woodland Hills this morning, in which Greg is teaching on using our imagination to truly connect with God. I sat and gave mental assent to everything he was saying, all the while realizing that my imagination has been almost solely devoted to my destruction, to driving me away from God all these years. Oh, not in a "Satan-worshiper, ouija board" kind of way, but rather imagining me as an object of scorn and wrath, someone who will never genuinely connect with God because God knows that I am lowlife scum of the earth. See how difficult it is to imagine yourself in love with and being loved by God when you can't stomach the images you see in your mind of the kind of person you are? Not easy. But these are the voices and images I deal with moment by moment, nearly every day, and have for as long as I can remember. It's really no wonder that my brain and emotions finally short-circuited and have left me paralyzed inside.

My brain is busy, it is full. Unfortunately, what it is busy with and full of are generally crap. Stuff so trivial and so wrong-minded, that what comes out (verbally and nonverbally) is usually embarrassing and hurtful. And to sum up part of the teaching this morning, it isn't going to get better by simply trying harder to be better or even to think better. I forgot to turn off the faucet and now the stuff is overflowing. Before my mind and my spirit can contain anything good, I need to begin to bail, to create space. I think that is my primary need and purpose as we begin this six week "Animate" journey together at Woodland Hills. I have to create space by emptying myself of some sources of prejudice against myself in order to really imagine me being intimate with and loved by God.

So, here is the basic agenda for the days ahead: start unloading. First, I need to stop using the internet as a crutch to distract me and keep me unfocused. I have to cut down on my idle usage of this wonderful land of make-believe. Along those lines, I really must pare down the amount of time I spend using entertainment technology. I don't need to watch everything that is on TV, in fact, I don't need to watch much of what is on TV. Once I hear one sports talk show, I have probably heard them all, so I don't need the noise and clutter of constant radio blab. My physical appetites create grief because I sit and eat...not celery and carrots, for sure...and gain weight, which reinforces just how much I hate myself. So I need to create some space by eating to live, not living to eat. The sitting simply compounds my basic lethargy, so in order to create physical and emotional space, I really have to start moving and "resisting" (using resistance training to build some physical strength). The journey of imagination begins not with filling up with more stuff to imagine but rather reimaging by creating space for the realities of a new imagination to dwell. Convoluted? Probably. But I think I understand what I'm trying to say. I'll keep you posted as to how it works out.

Solo, Unauditioned.

And here I sit, far too late for a guy my age to be up and yet unable to sleep. It has been an eventful week or so, with a trip to Colorado thrown into "normal" life just to keep things interesting. After having to duck out of yet another group meeting because the anxiety was just too much to take, I have come to a realization: I travel alone. Mostly not by choice.

Here's the deal. I have friends and acquaintances all over the country and even in other parts of the world. It is always good to catch up and even get the opportunity to hang out once in a while when our paths cross. However, the longer this anxiety mess continues, the fewer friends I have who really look forward to seeing or hearing from me. My problems have worn them out. When I first had my meltdown and as I began this weird journey, there were many people who walked with me, and for that I am eternally grateful. But as time goes on and I can't seem to get straightened out, I think it just takes too much energy for people to deal with me. I understand, as it is increasingly difficult to deal with myself.

My wife is tired and out of answers. My kids suffer from the uncertainty of a dad who is a basket case. And the biggest kicker of them all is that as I seem to sink further into myself, fewer people want much to do with me, which reinforces the sense of isolation and depletes the motivation to be among people. It is so much easier to hide at home and to continue to shape the couch cushions around my butt.

While I don't struggle with thoughts of suicide...first of all, I am far too cowardly, and second, I don't want to cause my family the trauma that comes with it...I admit that most days I wish there was a way for me to just die in peace and relieve my wife, my kids and the friends I have left of the burden that is dealing with me. I hate feeling this way, but the days in which I can see any light are so few and far between. There comes a time when you have been kicked in the gonads enough times that you just want the pain to stop; when you have seen those who used to embrace you avert their gaze when you come around and you really want to quit being a burden, stop being "poor, sick Joe." If only I could disappear and everyone could move on.

I read a story many years ago, I think it was by Bob Benson, about a man who was constantly searching or seeking for God. At first, everyone was excited about his search, but as it dragged on year after year, people began to distance themselves from him as no one had the energy to listen to him talk about his desire and his inability to become convinced of the truth of God. That's how I feel about my mess. Most of the world is just plain weary of listening to me and dealing with me.

I'm sorry. And I don't like it myself either.

Say It Ain't That, Pat

KYLE ORTON? KYLE STINKING ORTON???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!

The team that made one of the best trades in NFL history in 1983 has now made what will surely be one of the worst in 2009. Taking the side of a dishonest, bumbling goober of a rookie head coach from the cheating Bullychick tree is the very definition of insanity in football terms. How in the world did it come to this?

KYLE ORTON? KYLE STINKING ORTON???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????!!!!

Nuf said.